For the Glory of Adoring You
by LadyKailitha
Summary: Based on this prompt on tumblr:Sherlock is someone who sings in the shower. He usually times it for when John is out of the flat, but one time he mistimes it and he's in the middle some ridiculously overdramatic love song when John walks into the flat. It happens to be opera. And John has to look up the words to find out it's a love song because Sherlock is singing it in Italian.


**A/N: The title is a translation of the song mentioned in the story.**

**As for why I picked this one...well...you see...:**

**I'm not an opera fan. Not even close. I have see two operas in my life, Rigoletto and Don Juan. So I went to my resident violinist/tenor and said, "Hey, I need a love song from an opera," and he gave me this one. Another little story about WHY this one, well... When you try to get into our local university's music program, you have to audition. Now the judges are the heads of the department and are fairly jaded to most things they hear. Just something that happens when you listen to hundreds of kids trying to get in. Think American Idol, only mostly operas. Well, my husband gets up and sings this song and by the end, he had them swooning. That's right. It would be like having Simon Cowell swoon on you. So, yeah. That's why this song.**

**And thanks to my beta who reminded of a couple things plot wise and fixed all my silly punctuation errors. Thanks, dear!**

* * *

John shoved his key into the lock of the front door at Baker Street, feeling only a little better than death warmed over. After the third child threw up on him, his boss took pity on him and sent him home.

All he wanted to do was hop in the shower and get the sick off him. It saturated into his hair and skin, leaving him itching to remove it as fast as possible. As he trudged up the steps to his flat, he could hear the warm, dulcet tones of a singer belting out the most beautiful tune.

He stopped at top stair and just listened. He wasn't sure of the language; he thought it was probably Italian. It didn't quite sound like the French he'd heard Sherlock speaking on occasion, when he and Mycroft got into pissing matches and didn't want John to understand them.

_**Penerò v'amerò luci care!**_  
_**Senza speme di diletto**_  
_**vano affetto è sospirare, **_  
_**Ma i vostri dolci rai**_  
_**chi vagheggiar può mai, **_  
_**E non v'amare?**_

It was then he realized that the music was coming from the bathroom and if he strained hard enough he could hear the hiss of the stream of water coming from the shower. John blinked. It was Sherlock. Sherlock was singing in the shower. That voice was his flatmate. His brain was having a hard time keeping up, so he shook his head to clear it.

There was no point trying to get a shower now, he didn't know when the detective would be out. Sherlock went one of two ways when it came to his showers, either he was lightning fast, only doing the most perfunctory cleaning to get ready for a case, or there was the post-case, languid drenching where he'd be in there for as long as the hot water heater would allow.

John firmly suspected this one was the latter. He looked down at his vomit-soaked clothing and winced. He sighed and decided he could at least change into clean clothes. He'd wash his hair after Sherlock got out. Maybe if the stink got to him before the great detective graced John with his presence, he would rinse it out in the sink.

By the time he'd gotten downstairs the singing had stopped, but the shower was still going. He thought about the song he'd heard and decided that while he waited, he would look up the song to find out what it meant. He sat down with his laptop but he could still smell his hair. He sighed, set the laptop aside and went to the kitchen. After rummaging around the cabinet under the sink he found a bottle of shampoo that Sherlock had used for an experiment involving a case. It was floral scented, which is why neither of them had used it afterwards, but beggars can't be choosers.

He washed his hair two or three times before he could no longer smell the vomit. Once he was satisfied, he went back to the sofa and his laptop to look up the song Sherlock had been singing.

It was fairly easy as the song was apparently well known enough that even his fumbling of the spelling of the words still managed to pull up the song. It was called Per la gloria d'adorarvi from the opera Griselda, and while he could only find Pavarotti singing it, he did manage to find a translation.

The song went something like this:

**_For the glory of adoring you _**  
**_I want to love you, oh beautiful eyes_**  
**_In loving you I will suffer but I will not cease to love you_**  
**_Yes, in my suffering_**  
**_I will suffer but I will love you, dear eyes_**  
**_Without the hope of joy_**  
**_vain affection is but longing_**  
**_but your sweet eyes_**  
**_who could help but admire them_**  
**_and not love you?_**  
**_I will suffer, but I will love you , dear eyes!_**

John was stunned. That had to be the most heartbreakingly beautiful love song he had ever heard. He was listening to the song on repeat when Sherlock came in.

"John?" Sherlock asked, surprised to see his friend home from work so early.

"Hello," John said as he hit the space bar, pausing the song. He set the laptop aside and stood up.

Instead of trying to deduce it, the stunned detective asked, "How long have you been home?"

"_Senza speme di diletto, vano affetto è sospirare_," John softly sang.

"Oh." Sherlock sat down heavily in his chair. "You heard me singing then?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry you had to hear that, Mycroft says I sound like a cat in heat when I sing."

John walked to Sherlock and leaned over him, placing both hands on the arms of the chair. "Then remind me to heavily berate him the next time he comes over. For that was magnificent, Sherlock. It really was."

Sherlock blushed.

"Why that song in particular?" John asked.

The detective's cheeks darkened from a light dusty pink to almost crimson.

"_Ma i vostri dolci rai chi vagheggiar può mai, E non v'amare?_" Sherlock replied.

"So you are saying you love me, then?" John asked, leaning in close. So close that their noses were almost touching. Sherlock gasped. He gulped once and then nodded shortly, their noses brushing against each other with the rise and fall of his head.

"Good." And John closed the distance to his friend's lips. Their first kiss was barely more than a simple pressing of their lips, but it said worlds. It told Sherlock that, no, he didn't have to love in vain, for John loved him.

John lifted his head and pressed his forehead against Sherlock's. "I love you, too, you great git."


End file.
